


Collared

by piginapoketuesday



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Choking, Collars, D/s, Dom Will, Dom/sub, Hannibal in a collar, M/M, Office Sex, Rope Bondage, Sub Hannibal, Sub!Hannibal, Touching, dom!will, hannibal's office
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginapoketuesday/pseuds/piginapoketuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is collared while fully clothed. Here begins the debauched unraveling of his person suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collared

Will Graham stood in the corner of Hannibal’s office, watching. His psychiatrist seated himself on the blue chaise lounge and crossed his legs.

“As much as I delight in stripping you,” Will said, “I think I’ll have you collared while fully clothed.”

Hannibal bristled at that. “And why might that please you, Will?”

Will smiled unkindly. “The suit gives you an air of respectability. You hide behind it, comfortable in your grace and calm. I imagine you would enjoy the naked baring of your neck to me, lithe and restrained. You’d get to show me your teeth. You could sweat and moan and never damage the persona you present to the world. But clothed? How might it feel to be owned in that way, suddenly powerless and torn?”

The idea made Hannibal cringe inwardly. “I admit I would experience palpable discomfort.”

Will stepped forward. “Would said discomfort be worth the pleasure of subservience?”

Hannibal glanced briefly at the thick swell pressing against the zipper of Will’s trousers. He licked his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“Are you distracted, Hannibal?” Will’s mouth was cruel.

The older man adjusted his cuffs. “I am finding it difficult to think about little else but the warm wetness that must be gathering where cloth brushes the tip of your cock.”

Will felt a tingling flush paint him from chest to groin. “Ah,” he said casually, “I must be achingly tender.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, feeling inordinately warm under his collar, “One might say that.”

“One might,” Will said, as he took another few steps toward where Hannibal sat, “If one were uncaring of the consequences for speaking so lewdly of his dominant’s body without explicit permission.”

Hannibal’s eyes were bright. “Perhaps one knows that thoughts of said consequences are responsible for certain reactions in his dominant’s body.”

Will regarded his lover with disbelief. “Have you considered holding your tongue?” he asked.

A dangerous, cavalier smile crossed Hannibal’s lips. “I’ve considered holding it to your navel.”

Deciding to let the words roll off him, Will turned and opened the satchel he’d set atop Hannibal’s desk. “Your tongue might exact less damage than the last thing you held to my navel,” he said, “But I can’t be sure.” He found the thick leather collar inside his satchel and withdrew it for Hannibal to see.

Hannibal imagined himself licking the raised flesh of Will’s scar and pausing to dip his tongue just beneath, into that intimate little hollow that might make his lover writhe. “No, you can’t be sure.”

“I need to ask that you be still for this, Hannibal,” Will began, pulling a length of rope from his satchel to accompany the collar. “Cooperate, or I will deny you.”

“As you wish,” Hannibal said.

Will stepped up to him and set the rope and collar at the end of the chaise lounge. He moved closer and touched Hannibal’s face, stroking the angles of his cheeks and chin. Powerful but subservient eyes looked up at him as his hands wandered down to deftly loosen the tie and pop open the topmost button, just enough to expose the hollow of his throat. “There,” he said, running his knuckles along the column of Hannibal’s neck, “Warm and bare for me.”

The volatile loneliness of years behind glass threatened to choke Hannibal more sufficiently than a collar could. Will was here, touching him, close and gentle on his skin. He found it difficult not to lean against the wandering fingers.

Slowly, Will reached down and spread his lover’s thighs, encouraging Hannibal to plant his feet wider, and smiling at the sudden strain of fabric. He moved to straddle the older man, sitting low and tight against him, cock hard and pressing against Hannibal’s. He tilted his head to kiss the muscle of Hannibal’s throat, and his hands moved beneath the still-buttoned vest to brush his nipples over the white shirt. “Are you a bit eager, Hannibal?”

The doctor allowed himself to breathe heavily and slip one hand into the tangle of Will’s curls. “I’m not alone in that,” he said.

Will pulled the hand out of his hair and pressed Hannibal’s fingers to his mouth. “This is why I have to tie you. I’ve barely started, and you’ve already disobeyed me.”

Hannibal closed his eyes, half listening, focused on their combined heat between his legs. “Forgive me.”

Will pulled Hannibal’s head back slightly by the back of his hair and bit at his lip. “You hardly deserve forgiveness, Hannibal.” He could feel the subtle, desperate thrusting against his length and hear the scratch of cotton against wool. He reached beside them to grab the collar.

Hannibal raised his chin, compliant with the unspoken order. He was sweating through his suit.

“If it were me here under your hands,” Will said, as he brought the leather to the center of Hannibal’s neck, “You’d coo about my _lovely_ throat and proceed to choke me until I begged.”

The doctor swallowed, feeling the collar compress his Adam’s apple as Will fastened it tightly behind his neck. “That’s fairly accurate,” he said stiffly, grunting at the uncomfortable pressure.

“And my wrists,” Will continued, taking Hannibal’s hands in his own and reaching for the rope, “Might be subject to a kind of bruising.” He leaned forward and trailed his open mouth along the scar at Hannibal’s right wrist. Then he pressed the fading lines perpendicular to each other and looped the rope around and through his wrists. The knot he tied to finish the job would have kept a ship at the dock in the stormiest of waters.

“This will not prevent me from touching you,” Hannibal observed thickly, chin held high enough to expose the crescent scar from the last time he was bound and collared. “Or myself.”

Will lifted Hannibal’s arms and draped them over his head and down past his shoulders, until the tied hands rested at the base of his spine. He was distractingly close to Hannibal now, enough to smell the sweat leeching through his suit and count the pores beneath his eyes. He felt the twitching of Hannibal’s cock under his swollen balls and tried not to think about his lover’s mouth teasing him there.

“Do you ache, Will?” Hannibal asked, his breath halting and uneven, pulling Will still closer with the only leverage he had left.

Will slipped two fingers under the back of the collar and pulled away from the skin, earning a choked grunt. “Should I have gagged you?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “You know I ache. You can _feel me_.” He arched purposefully to rub along Hannibal’s cock.

The moan that followed from the cannibal’s lips was carnal and strangled.

Will inched back as far as he could manage on Hannibal’s thighs and slowly unbuttoned his submissive’s trousers, smoothing his thumb over the bulging wool. Once opened, he slipped his hand under the waistband of Hannibal’s briefs and curled his fingers around the doctor’s length. His palm slid over slippery foreskin and heavy balls.

Hannibal sighed at the touch, involuntarily jerking upward into Will’s hand. He felt grossly debauched; choked and owned and bound and fondled like a handsome doll for Will to play with. It was unthinkable that he had been rendered so undone by so little stimulation. But Will’s hot tongue snaked over the curve of his ear, and he began to believe he’d fallen into the arms of some unholy god.

“Are you in pain, _Il mio Mostro?_ ” Will asked, pulling Hannibal’s cock from his briefs and stroking it obscenely between their bodies.

If this was suffering, he’d welcome hell. “No, Will, _no_ . . . I . . . don’t stop—”

“If you come, Hannibal, you’ll ruin your suit,” Will warned, his measured stroke maintaining the paradox of pleasure.

Hannibal swallowed against the leather. “I thought it was my person suit you wished to violate, rather than the actual garment.”

Will smiled and ran the fingers of his free hand through Hannibal’s once-coiffed hair, now unkempt and damp with sweat. “I think we’re long past that.”

Hannibal felt the roiling need in his belly, coupled with his willing submission, and he couldn’t find the energy or will to argue his lover’s point. “Ruin my suit,” he said, his mouth dry and his body taut with lust.

“Hannibal,” Will scolded, rubbing his thumb cruelly into the doctor’s slit.

Hannibal Lecter _whined_. “I beg,” he managed, his throat red and flinching against the collar, “That you ruin my suit, _Will_.” The name was little more than a breath.

Will leaned forward to wet his lover’s parted lips with a lingering suck. “As you wish.”


End file.
